“All that has nothing to do with who he really is. So, no, it hasn’t been hard.”
“She paints an unflattering picture of him.” Meredith flipped backward in her notebook, glancing down at what she’d written there. “She calls him emotionally unavailable and withdrawn. Unwilling to connect.” Meredith’s voice was gentle, almost sympathetic. “She also says he was in love with Ivy James the entire time they were married. That he saved the best of himself for Ivy.”
A hot iron rod flared in my chest. “Totally false. He and Ivy are dear friends and collaborators. There was cheating in that marriage but it sure the heck wasn’t by Hunter.”
Meredith’s pen stopped moving. “What are you saying?”
“Dana had an affair. That’s why the marriage ended. Not because Hunter was in love with Ivy. Dana King was in someone else’s bed, and most of the music industry knew it.” My voice grew sharper, but I couldn’t stop, anger urging me to continue. “So it’s rich that she’s accusing him of cheating when it was she who imploded their marriage.”
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“It’s not an accusation. It’s what happened.”
Meredith wrote something down. My heart beat too fast. I should slow down. I should stop talking. But all I could think about was how unfair it was that Hunter’s name was the one being dragged through the mud when it was all lies. My instinct to protect him had taken over rational thought.
“He gave her everything he had of himself, and she threw it away for some music executive who went back to his wife the minute Dana left Hunter. Do you want to know what Dana’s book is really about?”
“Please.”
“It’s about jealousy. Dana King is bitter and chronically envious of Ivy James. Ivy’s career surpassed hers. She blamesHunter for giving Ivy his best songs, when it was actually not even up to him. The label saw the star potential in Ivy James and they did whatever it took to make sure she broke out. And it worked. Ivy’s playing arenas and Dana’s lucky to book a county fair.”
Oh, God, I was really on a rant. I folded my trembling hands on my lap and drew in a deep breath.
“You’re saying Dana King’s book is full of lies?”
“Let’s just say Dana’s made herself seem the victim, blaming everyone around her for her failures when she should look in the mirror.”
“If this is true, why hasn’t Ivy James or Hunter Sloan said so?”
“Because they’re too classy,” I said. “They won’t stoop to her level. That’s not their way.”
She looked back at her notes. “He said the truth about his life is in his songs. Should we take that to mean Ivy’s new single, written by Hunter Sloan, is about Dana’s betrayal?”
“That’s right. And his mother’s.”
“His mother’s?”
“She left her little boy when he was only ten years old. The two women he loved more than anyone both left him. You tell me—does that give him the right to be a little guarded? His heart’s been broken every which way. That he’s still open to love should be the headline. Not her lies.”
Meredith didn’t say anything, simply nodded. But I could see it in her eyes. That sparkle that writers get when they know they have a great story.
My anger subsided, replaced by horror. What had I just done? Talking about his mother? That was sacred. It was his story to tell, not mine.
“That’s very insightful,” Meredith said. “It explains a lot about the song.”
“I shouldn’t have talked about his mother. That’s not something he would want shared. I need that off the record. Please.”
Meredith set down her pen. “Of course.”
I exhaled. “Thank you.”
“Let’s get back to talking about you. Tell me about your latest book.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Talking about my books felt a heck of a lot safer than my personal life.
Over the next few days,the article weighed heavily on my mind. I thought about telling Hunter what I’d said but, every time I tried, the words stuck in the back of my throat. On Friday, we headed to L.A. for the premier. I’d convinced myself by then that Meredith would keep her promise.
I’d managed to get tickets for our whole gang, so we headed en masse to the Hollywood Roosevelt, arriving on a warm afternoon. We filled up three black Suburbans, sent by the studio. Hunter, Tyler and I were sharing a car with Esme, Grady, Madison and Robbie. Madison let out a scream at the sight of the ROOSEVELT HOTEL sign that crowned the rooftop in tall capital letters.
